


Smells Like Puppy Love

by aRedBaroness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Marking, Scenting, Slow Build, Starcrossed Lovers, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aRedBaroness/pseuds/aRedBaroness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of little red riding hood but not really. Set in an alternate universe version of season one. Stiles and his dad move to town around the same time as Derek who is back in town to avenge his family. Derek catches scent of Stiles in the woods and realizes it'll be hard to stay away from the teen. At the same time, when it becomes apparent they can't stay away from each other it becomes sort of a star-crossed situation. The Argents won't come for Derek if he leaves Stiles alone, but he can't and conflict ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So as mentioned above this is a kind of AU Season One. The focus is not on Scott becoming a werewolf and catching the Alpha, but instead it's about Derek coming to town to avenge his family. Him and his inner werewolf are distracted by the new Sheriff's son, Stiles and as much as they try to stay away from each other they can't. This breaks a fragile truce between the Argents and Derek as they have an agreement that they won't come after him if he doesn't recruit new pack members or mates. Poor Stiles is caught in the middle.
> 
> Somewhat inspired by this amazing Red Riding Hood/Sterek fan vid. Check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7Q2U6Bfw-A

Chapter 1

It really sucked starting over in a new town. Stiles always felt like he was never ready for it. Never ready for the change. Why did his dad have to be so good at his job. Yeah, it was kind of cool to be able to stroll into a new school and be like, “Yeah my dad's the sheriff.” But at the same time, Sheriff Stilinski (with Stiles' help – on the sly, of course) was entirely too competent to play small town sheriff. It was this competency that had resulted in their current predicament, every few years the higher ups in the chain of command would decide to send Sheriff Stilinski to a different “problem” small town to sort it out. Once a town, got cleaned up, all ship-shape as it were (a process that usually took a couple years) the Stilinskis would be moving towns.

Stiles had lost track of how many school's he'd attended since the death of his mother. Yeah, his mother was dead. His mother who had saddled him with the worst possible first name. (Not that Stiles ever clued people into that closely guarded piece of intel. Stiles had started doctoring his attendance record when he was about ten to remove all references to his first name. Now when he rolled into a new town and his permanent file – which he was proud to say was rather hefty – finally showed up it really did say his name was Stiles Stilinski.) 

He did forgive his late mother her poor taste in names. It had taken him longer to get over forgive her the changes that came to his life as a result of her untimely passing when he was eight or so. She had been sick and once his father was out of that mourning period (the time neither Stilinski brought up, but Stiles always called it the “danger zone” in his head, when his father's drinking was more frequent), Stilinski the elder had taken a renewed interest in police work. Officer Stilinski had lost himself in his work and it hadn't been long before he'd received the honorable title of Sheriff and from that point on it was only a matter of time before they were dispatched to a new slice of small town Americana.

This time they were in Northern California, some place called Beacon Hills. It was nice. Stiles had never been a big fan of the wet and often cold rain that was the norm along the Oregon coast. They'd been in and around the smaller cities that dotted the Oregon coast for the past four years or so. It was nice to be somewhere warmer for a change. Unfortunately, it seemed that the trade off for nicer weather was that special kind of hell – it was a smaller town, a bit more red-necky, a bit further from the main highways, which meant there would be jack all for Stiles to do here.

Stiles was not looking forward to run-ins with whichever kind of bullies ruled Beacon Hills High School. He was sure to encounter them sooner or later. You see Stiles usually had a problem in that regard, granted it was self inflicted a degree, but at the same time he didn't see himself changing any time soon. Stiles was blessed with intelligence and wit sure, but with it came the handicaps of ADHD, a reckless impulsive nature and a loud, smart-ass mouth. It was a killing combo. He couldn't abide high school thugs, he attracted their attention, by sticking out loudly wherever he went and he despite his delicate frame, he was unable to back down, close his mouth and escape an ass-whupping. So he talked back and he took the blows that were dealt as a result. As much as possible, he tried to hide any evidence of such scuffles from his dad, who really didn't need the added worry and couldn't have helped anyone by stepping in.

So yeah new town. They'd arrived late on Saturday. After roughly ten years of frequent moves, they had unpacking down to a finely tuned art. It rarely took longer than a day to unbox and set up. It was true, after a number of moves, they'd also cut down on the amount of things they had to move and certainly the precise and carefully planned nature of the packing also helped speed the unpacking process, as everything was pretty meticulously labeled and organized. It was much easier to set up a kitchen for instance if you didn't lose anything and half to spend half the afternoon hunting through every single box desperately seeking the coffee machine, Stilres knew this from experience and the curse of a caffeine addiction.

Today was Monday. Despite Stiles' best efforts to the contrary he'd been to bed late and now here he was lying in his new room awake well before the shrill shriek of his alarm. He sighed. There was little point to staying here on his bedspread cursing his general existence and counting the dots in the stucco of his ceiling. Mondays at new schools were like band-aids, best to face them head on, grit your teeth and rip them off immediately. 

It barely took Stiles any time to throw some clothes together. He'd gone with his red plaid flannel shirt and his most broken in jeans because it looked overcast and this was one of his comfiest favorites and he might need that today. He scarfed down his breakfast and gulped his coffee without really registering the taste. 

By the time Stiles was finished, the sun was just barely peeking through the barren trees. It was still so early and Stiles was a ball of twitchy, now extra caffeinated, nervous energy. Their house was not too far from the dry wintry woods that surrounded Beacon Hills and Stiles figured a quick jaunt through the wilderness might help him calm down a bit, so he could sit still in class. (Well, Stiles was actually quite incapable of sitting still in class or anywhere else for that matter, but he liked to try to keep the fidgeting to a minimum as much as possible),

So Stiles headed down the road to the dead end and then he continued into the tree line. The air was crisp and cool on his darkening cheeks. The vivid hues his skin took on in the lightest of chills was downright embarrassing. Thankfully, at this time in the morning there would be no one to notice. 

Stiles was enjoying crunching his boots aimlessly in the dry leaves when he heard it. It was startling in the early quiet of the woods. There was a definite rustling in the bushes ahead of him and whatever it was it sounded a lot bigger than a rabbit. Stiles stopped and listened, but he just heard his own pants for breath, deafening in the silence. He looked around frantically, doe eyes growing rounder and rounder as he searched for the source of the sound. He rubbed his hands through the stubble on the back of his neck, he only did that when he was nervous. “Calm down, Stiles,” he muttered to the leaves. “Get a grip on yourself, if there is something out there it's a deer about to have a heart attack at the sound of your stomping through its territory.” But he didn't really believe himself.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Derek always liked to run in the mornings. He didn't have much to do, since he'd returned to Beacon Hills. Yeah, he had rather other things on his mind, things like figuring out who the hell murdered his most of his family in a fiery blaze all those years ago and who had then come back years later to “finish the job,” by savagely murdering and mutilating his older sister, Laura. Someone had cut her in half and buried her to draw him back into town, presumably.

Derek was snapped back into the present by the feeling of wood splinters gouging into his nails. Evidently, thinking of his family's killers had caused him to dig his hands into the rough, blackened old dining room table he'd been sitting at. Yeah okay it was weird, but Derek lived in the charred remains of his family home. It didn't feel right to be anywhere else while he settled this score on their behalf. Also, there was that slight problem of being a prime-ish suspect in his sister and subsequently his family's deaths. He did have to admit that to an outside observer his status as nearly sole survivor of the Hale line in the wake of a wave of violent deaths was definitely suspicious. But at the same time, he was furious that the initial incident, the fire had not been investigated more closely and had been written up as a tragic, freak accident. Nine people had perished (a good portion of them children) and one person had been so severely burned that he'd ended up catatonic and only Derek and Laura because they'd been out at the time had walked away unscathed. Surely that sort of “accident” with that high body count warranted a more detailed investigation. Those damned stupid, lazy small town cops that just didn't want the harder work and greater paper work that came with actually investigating crimes in a thorough fashion.

Derek took several deep breaths in attempt to calm himself and the beast within. No he wasn't being figurative. Derek was now one of the very last werewolves in the Hale line. He did have an “inner beast” so to speak and sometimes it did try to take the reigns. Derek was not about to let it control him. He was all about discipline and control. It was a necessary skill to have if one wanted to avenge the senseless deaths of almost their entire family and Derek had certainly mastered it.

He liked to run in the mornings and get some of that primal energy out. It was good to go before there would be the added risk that people might be out and about in the woods. It was always best to go before the sun got very serious about being up and making it warmer. 

Today, Derek couldn't shake an odd feeling. It was a shivery excitement that bubbled up in the pit of his stomach and raced along the ridges of his spine. It excited him and spurred him on. He had this feeling that something was coming, that today despite his rotten streak of luck was going to good, better than good even, maybe as good as excellent.

Derek had left the burned out husk of his family home in very little clothes to accommodate his preference to run around half-wolfed. He was just in worn jeans and his muscled torso had taken a slight sheen from running around. He'd barely gone twenty yards from his property when he caught the scent. It stopped him in his tracks. 

It was like nothing Derek had smelled before and it smelled amazing. It was sharp and clean, sort of verdant and green, like sunshine on leaves. But underneath that there was a hint of something warm and a bit tart like a lemon that had been toasted for some reason. And it was so complex and intoxicating that Derek couldn't help starting to track it. The wolf was riding him hard now and driving him in the direction of the edge of the forest in the pursuit of that intriguing scent.

It was winding through his head and nostrils as he got closer to the source and Derek felt like he didn't really have time to slow down or get more stealthy with his movements. His fangs felt heavier in his mouth and his body felt taught as a hair trigger, quivering with excitement. He was surprised to find himself beginning to get aroused as well. The smell was some kind of natural pheremone maybe? But Derek didn't really give that much thought because that delightful warm, leafy, lemon-y something that was responsible for that delectable smell was oh-so close now.

Derek stopped abruptly in some tall bushes and tilted his head back gulping and scenting the air. It was just ahead of him on the path. He panted a little then and it took almost more control than he had to peer through the dead leaves at the source.

Damn it. That delightful odor was a boy. Derek wanted to hit something and dunk himself in the cold stream. It was just a stupid boy with soft features, whose skin was rather luminous in the early morning light. The skin that he could see was tantalizingly flecked with dark beauty marks in random constellations that Derek had a powerful urge to trace with his tongue. This was ridiculous. That was a teenager and a young-ish one by the looks of things. And Derek was nearly 21 and he shouldn't want to burst out of the underbrush and pin that boy to the ground and rub himself all over him just to bathe in that smell and see those golden eyes get even bigger. Now that he was closer, Derek could tell that the boy was nervous about something, it was there in irregular staccato of his heart beats, the fine sheen of sweat beading on his soft, plush-looking upper lip. Oh god. It occurred to Derek that clean note in the smell meant that this youth was untouched. And Derek had to bite back a growl. He absently shoved his hands in his jeans roughly adjusting his now throbbing cock. 

Damn stupid, delectable looking virgin. That pale neck looked soft, like it would yield easily under his fangs. That kid had know right to stumble into his woods looking like that, smelling like that. It made the hair at the back of Derek's neck abruptly stand to attention.

Without even really thinking about Derek crashed out of his hiding place, his face set in a deep frown. The kid just stood there, stock still as he approached. Even as Derek pushed his way into his personal space, he didn't run or flinch. Just stood there blinking, gaping like a fish.

This time Derek did growl. Right out loud, right in that dumb face. The kid still didn't budge. Though he did seem to be putting more of an effort into saying something if those gasping squeaks were anything to go by.

“Get out!” Derek said through tightly clenched teeth. “This is private property. You're trespassing.”

The kid's golden gaze met his and Derek thought he saw some defiance there. Some fire burning brightly in the black of those pupils. The red plaid shoulders were definitely squaring themselves and the kid was pushing back. Pushing his body into Derek's space.

“Didn't see any signs.” The voice was dry and deadpan. It was only the smell that gave away the underlying fear. The missed heartbeats were also a clue. 

Derek stepped forward. He almost choked, being that close to that smell, but tried to breathe more through his mouth. He made sure his face gave nothing away. “Get out,” growled again. He was aware of the heat that reminded him their foreheads were scant inches from touching. He could also tell that the wolf was excited by the prospect of this frightened rabbit-y seeming person that wanted to challenge him. The wolf seemed to think it would be fun to make this young buck submit. Force this pup to roll over and show him that pale belly. It definitely liked the idea.

But Derek was using all his discipline to keep that beast in check. He just stared into those golden orbs, refusing to blink or back down. The kid did have very thick lashes for a boy. Derek dug his claws into his thigh a bit, the pain centering his control. The kid did blink and look away first.

Derek could hear the kid mumble something that sounded like “grumpy Adonis. Ruining my day...” as he turned tail and left. It made him chuckle a bit. Before he was struck by the gravity of this problem. It would be no good to know that there was delicious, sumptuous boy-treat running around in his woods this close to the full moon. This could be very dangerous for all involved.


	2. Chapter 2

What a morning! Stiles never would have guessed his day would begin with gruff, growly threats from some cologne model in the middle of the woods behind his house. Man, he had all the luck. He also kind of had a problem brewing in his shorts and this point and he really didn't have so much time to deal with it before he had to get his punk ass to school. Think about gross things Stiles. Think about pus-filled infected wounds, your old math teacher's S&M heavy dating profile, geriatric sexy times. It was tough, but eventually Stiles did get 'lil Stiles under control. The icy run-off that counted as a spring had helped as well when he'd splashed a bit down his pants.

Then Stiles was practically running, very awkwardly like a newborn fawn unsure of how to work its own legs back to his Jeep. He was rapidly running out of time to make it Beacon Hills High without the Damocles' sword of lateness and detention hanging over his newly razored scalp. Wouldn't that just be the best way to make an impression on a new principal, roll up hella late to his first day. Damn growly, handsome strangers that he wanted to climb like a tree distracting him on such an important day. And to hell with always having to contend with not pissing off a new school's administrator. One day, Stiles would like to stick somewhere long enough to develop a punch-clock arch nemesis sort of relationship with the vice principal. You know the kind of sitcom style mischievous hero and straight-laced rule enforcer that were so used to each other they were able to have an easy banter about it. Something like “That's funny Mr. Stilinski, I bet that you'd be able to keep out of my office until at least Wednesday.” That type of dry sarcasm with his detention-dealer had little chance of happening though with the way his dad's career path was going.

When Stiles did finally roll up at the aforementioned high school, he had about five minutes to spare and it was relatively easy to slide into his home room without attracting the kind of attention that led to after school special extra curricular activities. All in all, as far as first days went it was kind of standard. 

Stiles' inability to employ common sense or keep his big fat mouth shut did not endear him to either the teachers or the more popular jock/bully set. On the plus side, he did appear to make friends rather easily with the dopey-looking lacrosse player that sat behind him in home room, named Scott McCall. Seriously though, that kid was kind of simple. You wouldn't believe the kind of remarks that went over his tousled brown head in their various shared classes. More than once Stiles had been sure that dyed-in-the-wool douche-saurus rex, Jackson, was going to deck Scott right in his scrunched up eyebrows. On the other hand, maybe Jackson was only holding back because it would be like slapping a puppy in the face. Even raging douche-sauruses were reluctant to stoop that low, Stiles was sure.

Scott was pretty easy to talk to. Under his simpleton and semi-attractive (yes, in a completely platonic way, Stiles could tell he was easy on the eyes) exterior Scott was really just a giant nerd. They liked the same brain-mushifying video games and they got into a few semi-heated arguments regarding superheroes. Stiles could tell this would be a fast and easy friendship for the two of them. It was like this Scott kid was just waiting for a loud mouth spaz, like Stiles to come along and shake up his world with the awesome powers of friendship.

Stiles did admit though there was one subject he could foresee he'd always be trying to avoid with Scott for the better part of their future buddy-ship, Allison. Stiles didn't know what kind of drugs that Argent chick mixed into her perfume that seemed to target Scott specifically, but if the subject of her ever came up, it only took about five minutes for Stiles' eyes to start glazing over and him to start searching for a dramatic mode of suicide to get himself out of the conversation. For the love of sweet skateboarding Jesus, the topic of the exact shade of her (pretty standard coloured, in Stiles' opinion) brown eyes should not be the starting point for an hours worth of meaningless contemplation. Shut up already Scott, grow an extra pair of balls and ask the broad out already will ya, for the sake of Stiles' sanity. 

During the approximately three hours of enthusiastic devotion to all things Allison, Stiles couldn't help his mind (and other parts of his anatomy) from wandering back to the topic of Mr. Growly Bear that he had met while trespassing in the woods this morning. He had pretty much decided that he would be trespassing in that area as much as possible for the remainder of his stay in this Californian armpit of a town. He wanted to see that scruffy frown as much as possible thank you very much.

In fact, Stiles went to far as to interrupt Scott's animated discussion of Allison's choice in scented lipgloss to ask Scott about the incident. “So, Scott, my man, there's all these big ass woods around my place, is it true that they're some kind of private property or something?”

Scott took some long slow blinks. Stiles sort of worried about the state of his new pal's mind if a simple change in topic could unsettle him this much. Scott's brow did that furrow thing that seemed to indicate deep concentration on his part. “The woods aren't exactly off limits...” he said slowly and carefully as if unsure how to phrase his answer. 

“But??” Stiles interjected flailing his arms in an indication that Scott should finish his damn thought.

“But, there's this um family. I mean there was this family that kind of, sort of, mostly owned a lot of them. They kind of all died, I guess. Err. I mean most of them died, it was this big tragedy when I was little. I know a couple of them made it out and one of them just plumb went nutso, so I'm not really sure how much the whole 'don't go in there' thing is enforced these days, but I'd stay out of it.” He stopped and stared at Stiles, clearly the effort of stringing all those coherent sentences had got to him at least a little bit.

“Oh.” Stiles really didn't know what to say to that. I mean, that all made it sound like that if he continued to frequent the forest he would be abusing some broken up orphans or tragic anti-heroes or something. That didn't mean he wasn't going back there though.

Scott seemed relieved that Stiles didn't have much to add to that and he seemed to view it as the perfect opportunity to return to his topic of choice, the angel formerly known as Allison. This time he was discussing the subtle nuances that could be gleaned from the shy introduction she'd given Scott and by extension the entire home room this morning.

This left Stiles back where he had been, tuning out his new bosom buddy in favour of contemplating his own vision of perfection, the one with angry eyes that loomed large clad in a bitchin' leather jacket. Mmmm. What would it be like to feel that dark stubble scrape across your neck, he wondered? What would that frowny face even look like if it relaxed into a smile? Maybe this was why Stiles was destined to be besties with Scott, they had similar problems with unattainable, obsessive crushes based on extremely limited interactions...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Damn that stupid leafy lemon-scented kid to all kinds of hell. His damn delicious smell was wafting all over this damn town. Christ on a bicycle, it was like the teen had rubbed his stupid perfumed self over every inch of the place. True, Derek ventured into town, but rarely, but by some cursed coincidence of events he had to stock up on the few personal items, supplies and luxuries he allowed himself today before the full moon. Now it seemed a simple stroll down the sparse grocery aisle of his local gas station convenience store was an exercise in ignoring the faint traces of that boy.

It was too damn much. Derek deserved to be able to shop in peace (though you could hardly call a gas station store run grocery shopping really). He was in a right mood by the time he approached the clerk. It must have shown on his face, the clerk was shifty and jumpy, it looked like he had a hand hovering over the emergency alarm button under the counter. As if Derek was going to hold up a gas station for some milk, deodorant, toothpaste, a magazine, tortilla chips and instant noodles. Nobody did that. Derek cut the guy a break though and made sure to do everything in his power to speed the purchasing process along. 

Later after he had put away his sparse purchases in his slightly scorched larder, Derek was grinding his teeth on the verge of the wolfing out for no damn reason. What was he supposed to do this moon if the entire area was lightly spritzed with eau de jailbait? If his wolf got a whiff of that, the next day he'd be dealing with a highly traumatized teen that had been humped by a wolf. (To be honest, smelling like that a humping was probably the least of that boy's worries.)

Some dark part of Derek managed to convince his more logical side that the only sensible way to deal with situation would be to map out that boy's general territory. It would mean spending the rest of the day obsessively stalking that green toasty citrus scent all across town and probably finding his house. That tiny little Derek of good reason was smacking his naughty side up side the head with a book made of the many reasons that was a terrible course of action, but he silenced that little Derek of reason, forcibly. He was going to find out where to avoid at all costs, that was all.

Derek was full of excitement as he ran toward town, half-wolfed. The wind in the leaves and in his furry mutton chops was seemed brimming with promise. Once on the outskirts of town he began tracking the boy. It took him very little time to figure out that he lived on the edge of town himself, all too close to the Hale woods. His house had only the smell of an older man, probably his father, marring its overwhelming purity.

He could hardly help himself from clambering up to the second story to get a creeper's eye view of the teen's bedroom. The window was even open like a blatant taunting tease. Pure undiluted sunshine leaves and warm lemon drifted out on the breeze. It was too inviting for Derek to pass up. He was cursing his own weakness and stupidity even as he ducked in the window. The room was nothing special, exactly what you'd expect for a kid his age. Maybe a few more books and complex ones too than you might expect, but otherwise the room was distressingly average. It was only the occupant of said room that was extraordinary.

And oh that smell. It was everywhere. It was the air in the room, thick, hot and cloying. That big bed was the worst though. The smell was more concentrated there for obvious reasons. Oh god. Derek could sense a slight change in the scent there, a spike of lust that meant the boy had had some fun times with his hand recently.

Derek practically hurled himself out the window then. What the hell was he doing? Stalking a teenage boy on day of the full moon that's what he was doing. Sneaking in the boy's window like a goddamn creeper. Breaking and entering Derek, really. And for what? A way to rub his nose in the scent that had been haunting him all day?

He was disgusted that he'd ever believed that this was a viable plan. Now he knew where to stay away from, but he had also just lead the wolf right to little red riding hood's bedroom for god's sake. Yeah, that would go well, no doubt. 

The sun was high over him and his shame. Derek wondered what time it was? He was racking his brain trying to remember when the hardware store closed on a weekday. He might have to actually stoop so low as to go back to chaining himself up on the full moon like a goddamn wolfman in a scary movie. Creeping teenage bedrooms, what was he a sparkly vampire? Stupid, Derek, so stupid.

He was fuming as he ran back home. He was going faster than he normally did too, the blur of the trees was starting to make him dizzy. It was cathartic though, the running anyway. Derek was doing his darnedest to put the reason for it right out of his mind. He would run home, away from his problems and desires. He would drive into town, cross his fingers that no whiskey-eyed teens had visited the hardware store recently and look for a solution to his little control problem. Though truth be told it was shaping up to be a rather big, hard control problem.

Give a wolf, a whiff of an aphrodisiac scented teen and certain issues started to rise. Before you knew it, you'd be running back to said teen's house against all reason to jack it behind the tree outside his house. Yes, that's right Derek was marking his territory sexy style so to speak in broad daylight within full view of any nosy neighbours that cared to look. It was an itch scratched that gave his wolf great satisfaction evidently and it was all he could do not to howl as he came right on the bark of the tree. Yeah, any wolf in the area, werewolf or no, would know there was something up with this house and its occupants. It was one way to declare possession. Derek was not proud of it. He fully intended to put the entire incident out of his mind, chalk it up to pre-moon madness, totally not his fault, could have happened to any wolf. That was his story and he was sticking to it. Wild rabbits couldn't drag it from him.

What the hell was he going to do tonight? Leave town? Could hardware store chains really contain stupefying, maddening desire this strong? Derek unfortunately had no choice, but to find out. He hoped for his sake and for the sake of that pale kid that they could hold him. Otherwise, otherwise well who knows. He'd be making that hunter's job damn easy that's for sure. Yeah, there were werewolf hunters in this town. They were just itching, their trigger-fingers were anyway, for any kind of excuse to come after them. Derek wondered where their code landed on human/werewolf intimate relations. He bet it wasn't so keen on those at all. The punishment for such an offense probably wasn't death either, werewolf neutering maybe. His balls clenched right up at that disturbing thought. He was oh-so royally screwed. He prayed that if there was a God up there, he'd forget his sense of humour for Derek and his balls' well being. He didn't deserve to have this hanging over his head. No one did.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek was nervous and excited at the same time. He could feel the moon thrumming and pulsing just under his skin, setting his veins ablaze. He was a bit worried about what would become of that enticing-smelling teen he had met in the forest that morning when the wolf took over. Would he be able to rein in the impulse to hunt down his potential mate or would he awaken tomorrow next to a frightened, cum-soaked boy?  
It wouldn't be long now. Derek could feel the itch of the impending change now. His conscious mind was dimming down, becoming more feral, more wolfish. His sense of human concepts like morality and accountability was fast becoming a distant incomprehensible memory. He could feel his fangs drop and fur beginning to form beneath his hide. He dropped to his knees at the pain of his face bones shifting as his brow ridge became more prominent. The fur along his cheeks was bursting out and he howled knowing the transformation was nearly complete. Derek's claws were the last change to come bursting violently from his fingertips.

The wolf took in his surroundings. Everything was sort of hazy and red-tinged. The ground beneath his paws felt hard and artificial. The world smelled of charred wood and faded fear. The wolf disliked this place. It smelled deathly and it felt like old sorrows. He had lost his pack here and while it was indeed his den still, he felt loathe to remain here any longer. The wolf needed to run, to chase, to hunt.

With a final earth shaking howl, the wolf bolted out through the open door and launched itself into the dark woods. The moon was bright and full and he could here the distant rustling of small tasty woodland creatures.

The wolf wasn't hungry per se, but it wanted to hunt. To run and chase down its prey. It did have a new mate to consider after all. The wolf's mate was skinny and waif-ish. The little pup had smelled of vegetation, he would be a good provider and bring his scrawny mate a tasty, meaty morsel to fill his belly. He might even be inclined to bring his mate a brace of fresh rabbits to fatten him up and make him strong.

The wolf paused, scenting for his prey. There, less than a mile away was a full rabbit burrow. He bolted off in the direction of the bunnies, snapping his jaws and drooling a little.

The rabbits were pretty easy to catch. The last bunny had given the wolf a bit of a trouble, but it was over after a quick chase. Stupid bunnies, they had still been fat and sluggish from sleeping through the winter months. Easy prey.

The wolf was very proud of himself, a mouth full of tasty treats for his mate. He jogged through the woods to the home of his intended. Oh the smell of his little virgin mate was lush. He howled again for the sheer joy of it. How he longed to find his mate and rub his fur against them until their scents mixed.

As the wolf neared his mate's dwelling, he was all too aware of his own arousal. His engorged member was nearly dripping fluid, leaving a trail behind him. He did long to find his mate and sate his lust, but he could tell that the young pup was locked up tight on the uppermost floor of the dwelling.

So the wolf merely laid the bunnies as an offering on the front steps. He did indulge himself a bit though. He paused a while to mark each bit of shrubbery around the dwelling, so other wolves and creatures of the night would know to stay away.

Satisfied in accomplishing his mission, the wolf bounded off into the forest. The eve was still young and he would make the most of it. Get a good run in, before he returned to his den for dawn. He hoped his mate would be pleased with his gifts and recognize that he was a good, strong provider and a worthy candidate of his affections.

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Stiles awoke with a groan. Another school day, another day of dull lessons and a difficult battle to keep himself from pissing off too many of his teachers lay ahead. He sighed and got ready. 'Just four more days of this hell and then it's the weekend,' he tried to reassure himself.

When he was dressed and suitably caffienated, that is to say incredibly over-caffienated he opened the front door and shrieked. Stiles slammed the door shut and tried to get a hold of himself. Someone or something had left four dead bunnies on his front steps. What the heck! If this was some kind of sick joke, it was completely uncalled for. And if some wild beastie was responsible for this, again wtf! Why would an animal leave dead rabbits on his front step?

Stiles could hear pounding steps racing down the stairs. Darn it all to hell, he'd woken his father who had been recovering from the late night shift.

"Stiles. What's wrong?" Sheriff Stilinski asked still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Oh nothing. I was just a bit shocked to see the dead rabbits that some sick bastard left on our porch this morning."

"WHAT?!"

The sheriff pushed Stiles aside and opened the door to see for himself. He stared at the rabbits for a bit and nudged one with the edge of his slipper. It just flopped over revealing more of the blood and fang marks on its throat.

"What the hell, Stiles!" Sheriff Stilinksi exclaimed after shutting the door again.

"You just automatically assume this is my fault!" Stiles said, his face all scrunched up in anger. "Look Dad, I'm just as bewildered as you are. I got no clue why someone would leave a family of dead thumpers on our porch either."

The sheriff sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm sorry son. Just be careful today will ya? And text me if you get any more unusual 'gifts' or any other threats."

"Yeah sure, Dad. Sorry to wake you up," Stiles said softly. " I uh, better go before I'm late for school." He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves and opened the door, stepping gingerly over the rabbits. 

Yes, Stiles could tell this day was going to be excellent. But surely, it couldn't get any worse than murdered bunnies right? Just his luck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after the full moon, aftermath and confrontation. WTF! Rabbits, why?

Chapter 5

When Derek woke up in the woods he was relieved to see, there was no seductive smelling traumatized teen anywhere near him. Granted he wasn't far from that little, gutsy, mole-enhanced kid's house, and he did have the distinct taste of hare's blood caught in his teeth. He was actually almost used to finding animal blood and fur in his teeth. The taste barely gave him pause. It was something else that did it.   
A memory slowly emerging from the wolfish fog in his head.

A brace of bunnies laid on the doorstep of the wolf's “mate.” Mate, seriously. God damn it, wolf! Statutory laws may not exist in the animal world, but they sure as heck existed in the human one, along with all associated documentation and permanent records.

Besides Derek huffed as he began the trek back to the burned out shell of his ancestral home, he'd seen that tasty smelling morsel for like fifteen minutes maybe. Wasn't mateship based on more than that. Pheremones were well and good, but surely there was more to it than that. I mean yes, even Derek couldn't deny the fact that the little rabbit-hearted kid stood up to him was hot as hell, but that was besides the point.

Derek did manage to make the jaunt back to his home without anyone catching him in his birthday suit. It was still early after all. But all the same, he was barely shoved into a fresh-ish pair of jeans when he smelt something alarming. A toasty, leafy lemon-y smelling teenager. He growled under his breath. What the wolf had done was bad enough, it hardly needed any extra baiting from this unruly pup.

Derek didn't wait. He just yanked open the front door, making it creak ominously. That verboten boy stood there, he was doing the gawping fish routine again. It was frustrating. It was enticing, those pale, thin lips looked soft, plush, rather inviting really.

Get a grip, wolf boy! “What you want?” Derek tried to say it, but the gruff growly quality barely made it words. He repeated it more quickly.

Like a GIF freshly loaded, the teen sprang into a series of motions. There was some flailing, but at least the lips were closed. For now anyway. Surely, the windmill of motion was working up to something audible.

“What the helll, dude!”

Derek didn't get this. I mean yes, the flushed anger lent those pale, mole-dappled cheeks an attractive colour and the choler in his manner seemed to enhance that entrancing smell, but what was the boy even talking about. He raised his brows to signal, the boy hadn't revealed anything he understood.

The flailing seemed to have a more exasperated quality to it. I mean the kid hit his head on the door frame once. Finally, after he leaned back from the wall, those whiskey eyes took on a resigned quality and a single word was ground out. The boys teeth were almost clenched to tight for him to understand it, thank god for wolf-y hearing. “Rabbits!”

Derek blinked. How the heck was he found this soon. It wasn't like the wolf man left a note.

Before Derek, realized his intent, the boy had reached out and slapped him half-heartedly across what would be his muzzle. Like he was a bad dog. It got his hackles right up, this time his growl was not under his breath at all.

“Rabbits!” This time it was more enunciated. Spit was flying everywhere in sight. It looked like the kid was gearing up to really hit him this time.

Derek caught the wrist just in time. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Damn. That didn't even sound convincing to Derek. There was a bit too much teeth (fangs) to it. Not enough indignation. Also, grabbing the wrist had done him no good. It only brought fresh new danger. The kid had over-balanced and now was nearly flush against his bare chest. Even if he wasn't a werewolf, he'd be able to hear his heart. It was definitely doing double time now. That pretty pink flush was spreading too. Spreading to where was the question, Derek wanted answered.

“Bullshit, buddy. I just got here yesterday. Yes, I'm obnoxious. Yes, I'm every bully's favourite mouthy ass chew toy, but guess what. They don't know me well enough to terrorize me yet. Just wait. They'll get there.”

The kid had seemed all ballsy and loud and indignant about it. Then he seemed to realize what he said. He just seemed to melt down into Derek's chest in shame. 

It was definitely not helping Derek's overwhelming attraction to him. The kid needed comfort. The wolf would be all too happy to nuzzle him, give him some licks and puppy pile cuddles. Also, it seemed this guy was laugh out loud funny. A guffaw now and he'd lose all hope of ever intimidating the teen.

Before Derek had come up with a plausible response his chest was suddenly colder. The boy had jumped back, appropriately embarrassed to have been caught using Derek for physical comfort. Derek missed him already.

“I mean what the hell man, those were bunnies. Bunnies.” The boy was back in his face whispering. His breath smelled sweet, like fresh morning donuts.

“They had it coming.” What. Why on earth did he let himself say that. What kind of defence was that. He was still supposed to be presenting a view of de-Nile. He'd given too easily.

“What were you even trying to say?” The kid was back to normal volume now and back in his own space across the scant few feet of porch left. “Were you trying to scare me? Is this how Californian kids bully each other now, not on Snapchat, but with dead wild life? Omigod! You're not going to kill me are you?” His eyes were chasing themselves all around Derek's face as if it held all the clues.

“I can't promise I won't.” Derek absent-mindedly scrubbed a hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I was just trying to apologize. You looked like you needed more protein or something.” God. This was the worst cover story ever. Also, it was a bit too close to his actual reasons for him to be comfortable with it. At least, this least plausible excuse ever seemed to stun the kid into silence and keep in his own space.

“What.”

“You heard.”

“I'll have you know that there's nothing wrong with my size. Not all of us came fresh from the GQ gym. Some of us are perfectly average sized teenagers. I mean how are you not photoshopped.” The kid did not seem to be aware yet of his hand trailing Derek's abs. It did feel nice though. And the wolf was fairly howling. His mate thought he was well-muscled and attractive.

The kid suddenly jerked back his hand as if burned. He stared at it google-eyed for a minute before continuing his mad rant. “Dead rabbits! Who even does that!”

“It was meant as an apology.” Derek ground out.

“How. In what world, is dead bunnies some sort of apologetic gesture? How was I supposed to even know they were from you and not some sort of mafia threat?” He paused. Something was dawning there, in that fast-moving face if the way his eyebrows seemed to climb up to the heavens was any indication. “How did you know where I live?” The question was slower. But then he resumed speed. “I had to do a bit of research to find this place, the city archive security is terrible. Update your website guys, nobody uses Geocities anymore. I mean I know you're an archive and everything, but you don't need an antique website too.” 

Derek just shrugged. He had no reasonable answer for these questions. There was no reasonable answer for these questions, there was only what had happened.

“Fine. If we're going to be dead animal friends, I'll need to know your name. Stiles.” A hand was thrust out toward Derek. Was Stiles a first name, a last name, an unfortunate nickname, the cool new street drug?

“Derek.” He took the hand. What else was there to do at this point. He just stood there, shaking that hand for a stupid amount of time.

“Late! School! Only my second day!” The hand and the leafy, lemony kid attached to it withdrew and rabbited right off what was left of his porch. The kid was running up the lane and it took all of Derek's willpower not to chase it. Running away from a horny wolf, you might as well stick a target on your lubed up ass and say “First come, first serve.” Stiles. Stiles. So that was a Stiles. He didn't buy Derek's explanation, but at least he didn't have time to press him for the truth. And Derek didn't have to worry about the kid finding out about the rabbits. Kid was smarter than he looked.


End file.
